


What's a little grind between friends?

by kalika_999



Series: Jack and Brock's misadventures [117]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Coming In Pants, Grinding, HYDRA Husbands, Lapdance, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:09:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24027157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/pseuds/kalika_999
Summary: Brock’s there, draped out and narrowing his eyes at him like Jack's encroaching on his territory.
Relationships: Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow
Series: Jack and Brock's misadventures [117]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/547894
Comments: 5
Kudos: 33





	What's a little grind between friends?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [quillingyousoftly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quillingyousoftly/gifts).



> For my beautiful wife-to-be. I'm sliding this just barely in considering timezones because I had a completely different idea and scrapped it less than 24 hours ago to write this. There was a completely different lap dance idea in mind, but I should know by now that my brain likes to drop bombs of indecision on me and cause me to do a full shift. I hope this is still suitable and I wish you a million good things and a very nice Happy Birthday. 💙💙💙

Jack’s been in Germany for a couple of weeks before he gets his first break for the mission. He’s in a club, a strip club to be more specific, and he mulls over how mundane it always was, like having all that wealth and getting their dick wet was still top priority. But it is what it is and the bottom line is that he’s here to make friends, extract some important information and then terminate. Where he went to get those desired results didn’t much matter to him. 

He revealed a black card to any one of the many guards watching his movements, a girl in a barely covering  _ anything _ cocktail dress sidled up against his side, her hand trailing delicately along the back of his suit jacket while her other offered him up a single glass sitting on a black serving tray.

“Vodka, neat.” 

He could feel her nails trail up along the collar as he takes it, surveying the room one more time. He can’t help feeling like he’s in some kind of hokey Hollywood action flick, one of those no-brainer shoot the room up types Brock so actively loves forcing him to watch, tucking a bill along the strap of her g-string and giving her ass a firm smack before stepping away. The eyerolling is internal, letting his gaze fall upon her like he already had second thoughts about letting her move on, and it got him smiling a little over the whole portrayal. Maybe it was boring, but it was still entertaining to see if people believed all his bullshit. Brock always snarked that he overacted, that one day someone would see through it all for what it was, but he was one to talk, he was a show on his own and when Fury put him undercover, everyone wanted ringside seats to the whole event.

He’s directed into a private room where he’s scheduled to meet Koning, and he’s already there waiting for him. There’s a boy, no not with that muscular yet wiry frame, there’s a  _ man _ draped over his lap, face hidden away as he whispered something in his ear.

Whoever it was, they seemed to feel Jack’s eyes on them, and turning his head, shoots him a challenging look. It’s the hair that dawns on Jack and almost causes him to falter, the body type he’s assessing that’s attached to said hair is suddenly the moment he realizes he should have known better. He’s taking a long drink of the vodka as they lock eyes and while it’s happened before, it’s not a usual thing.

Brock’s there, draped out and narrowing his eyes at him like Jack's encroaching on his territory. He knows that expression intimately, but in this environment it looks as if he’ll kill because of it.

He ruthlessly stomps down the beginning panic that threatens to take over. No one told him Brock was here, his Commander who was supposed to be on a job in Portugal as far as he knew. Brock whoring himself over a man wasn’t exactly out of sorts for him but in this set up, he’s not sure what Fury said to convince him to do it. 

His stomach clenches uncomfortably when he considers what Brock has been doing for the past  _ five weeks _ to get himself parked on Koning’s lap like a prized pedigree and he shoves those thoughts as quickly as they arrive. Despite knowing Brock takes his work seriously, Jack doesn’t want to explore how intimate he’d get for information, but they’re really just friends, in the same field and happen to share outside time together. They don’t even fuck, and yet here he feels fragments of himself settle out of place. 

Nevertheless he trusts Brock not to sell him out in this ruse, and Jack’s always had his back. They’ve never once failed each other and he supposes it’s why he was sent in now, to place the pieces across the board and work together. Brock’s presence should make things easier, not harder, despite what he’s wearing tonight. Thoughts on that are Jack’s alone and a hindrance if he lets them out.

He discontinues standing in the frame of a doorway and slowly walks the few steps towards the men, locking eyes with Koning. He’s acting on instinct, years of training allowing him to easily feign a kind of arrogant confidence he doesn’t actually feel.

“I believe we have some business to attend to.” He offers, sets his glass down on the tray of a new girl coming in with a round. 

“Why in such a haste for business when you’re somewhere filled with many pleasures?” He leaned back further in the plush leather of his seat, Brock still draped over him like a beautiful accessory, eyes not leaving his sight. “Come now, relax, work will come soon. Take your pick from any of the lovely women I have around. Wherever your interest lies, Mr. Volkov, I am quite sure any of them can meet them.”

“What if the one I want is already here?” To emphasize his choice, Jack holds out his hand for Brock.

“Is that so?” Koning’s voice is low, polite with a trace of amusement. Jack just stares expectantly at him with slightly raised brows, and after a few seconds pass it’s there, the spark of rivalry that will be Jack’s hook to reel him in.

“Why don’t we let Anthony decide that.” Koning smiles tightly. He hasn’t been tossed out yet which speaks volumes.

Brock is already off of Koning’s lap. The look of clear annoyance has been replaced by a hungry leer that looks frighteningly real. It’s a bit unsettling when it’s targeted directly at him, even more so when Brock holds out his hand expectantly, a gentle wiggle of his fingers accompanying it. Without missing a beat, the sexy, seductive music only intensifying the whole act, Jack uncovers a thick billed money clip from his pocket. He places three american 100 dollar notes against Brock’s awaiting palm; when he receives a quirk of a brow in response, he places two more that does the trick. Brock tends to have expensive tastes out in the real world when someone else is buying, he should know better. 

“Ya got thirty minutes.” Brock tells him, already sauntering over to the empty black leather sofa.

Jack barely keeps himself from gaping, but they’re working and he compartmentalizes needling him about that cockiness later.

He sits down, taking a second to look Brock over who stands before him, waiting patiently. Apart from the different clothes, much too tight black leather pants and an untucked and unbuttoned black silk shirt, he looks the same, his hair almost perfect and he’s not even clean shaven in an act to look younger. How Jack noted him as a boy for a second there was a real lapse of judgement for him. His expression is all so familiar to Jack, a mixture of confidence and sensuousness, both a common signature of Brock’s even if they were usually for two different situations entirely. The fact that he’s seen the latter almost an equal amount without having never done anything with Brock is beginning to become questionable. 

As familiar as this version of Brock is (ignoring the clothing), Jack is still completely blindsided when he watches him turn his back to him and begins moving to the music coming from the back. Starting with a gentle sway, his movements become rapidly bolder until he draws wide circles with his hips that have Jack’s world off its axis. Brock puts his whole body into it, arms raised high and his back arched in a perfect bow even when he bends his knees, grinding up and down in a slow dance.

That skin tight leather stretches impossibly over Brock’s firm ass and Jack can’t hold back a helpless groan he hopes gets swept away with the music, his cock already stirring at the sight. In less than three minutes Brock gets him fully ready for anything and he’s not sure he hates himself for it. 

“Don’t.” Jack warns low, loud enough that he knows Brock will hear him but no one else will, watching him move back slowly until he can put his hands on Jack’s knees. He knows where this is going all too well, that his warning will fall on deaf ears whenever Brock’s met with the offer to mess with him. He can safely say causing issues is one of Brock’s favorite pastimes and it goes especially so when it’s Jack that he’s picking on. While he had made it easy for Brock to choose to spend time with him, he had a small ounce of hope that his Commander would go easy on him today.

He should always know better. 

Brock grinds his ass against Jack’s crotch in a filthy imitation of what Jack wants to do to him. And it’s like he does it with more of a spiteful vigor that he normally would, not that he knows but he’d like to think that it’s how things go with him. Brock leans back against his chest, turning his neck so he can graze his lips along the scar on Jack’s jaw.

“Jus play along.” Brock murmurs against Jack’s skin, the tip of his nose tracing his cheekbone. “He likes watchin’.”

Jack feels no need to tell Brock he’s trying his best not to play too much into it, sure that the man can already feel what it’s doing to him. He can only lean on the fact he’s letting himself go, that he wants to make it obvious, and while that thought can have a level of solace to them, it makes him burn just that much hotter with the need to take Brock apart in his hotel room, just to eventually put him back together again.

He’s good at denying himself things, no matter how much he wants them, it’s a lifelong trait of his. Brock’s always been one of those things, but here, he can imagine it all differently and since Brock isn’t holding back, Jack’s going to look mighty out of place if he doesn’t join in. 

He lets himself touch, Brock's hips smooth and taut under his hands, different from the usual guys he on occasion meet up with, but not an entirely new sensation. Just across, at the other side of the room from them, Koning watches intently. Jack locks eyes with him before he slides one hand down, cupping it over the half-hard curve of Brock's cock, reveling in the quiet gasp his touch evokes from Brock and the way the teasing friction against his own cock stutters.

The feeling lasts only for a few glorious seconds until Brock twists around, slides into his lap and straddles his thighs, graceful and easy as if it’s something he does every day. Jack thinks how much practice it would take, how long Brock has been doing things like this already and what he would love to do if they were alone in the middle of his living room right now.

“Is this what you’ve been doing all the time you’ve been out here?” He grunts out, clamping down a hand on Brock's neck with a firm squeeze and bringing their faces close enough for their noses to touch.

“That ain’t none of yer business, the only job ya got is to get an in like I did.” Brock says, voice low and hushed. His eyes are bright, shining against the low dim of potted lights, full of arousal and a mess of something else.

Jack thinks about Fury, wonders how much he really knows about how Jack feels, what Jack  _ thinks _ about in relation to Brock. He wants to get back at him, in some shape or form because this can’t be a coincidence, not at all. Sure they’ve had agents fake relationships and rendezvous together before, ask Barton and Romanoff and how many bills from hotels Shield gets for broken beds. But this is so out of place, even for him. Jack only barely does undercover and he was specifically requested this time around. He’ll have to reel it all back before the annoyance of everything crosses his carefully masked face. 

“Focus, Rawls.” Brock hums teasingly, and how the fuck is he still in possession of all his senses like this? Jack is slowly losing his mind with the way Brock circles his hips, the crease of his ass moving over Jack’s cock in a filthy slide that makes him harshly pull back sudden primal instincts yet cannot avoid the way his suit pants are beginning to form a wet spot like he’s back in high school.

It dawns on him with sudden clarity that the sole purpose of Brock's existence is to torment him in every way possible.

“Gotta tell ya, Jack, yer one of the best but fuck did that take ya long enough.” Brock shoots back sarcastically when Jack tells him as much because he really can’t help himself, Brock’s lips quirked upwards as they do when he’s winning, or at least believes he is.

Brock keeps talking, it’s what he always does when it’s only the two of them in a room together, an endless stream of random things he likes and adores. Jack tries to keep up as per usual, he really does, but all too soon he ignores the drone of Brock's low voice in favor of imagining what that wonderful mouth of his could do instead of just talking. Brock would look pretty on his knees, and even prettier with Jack holding a handful of dark hair, those flush, reddened lips wrapped around his cock until he chokes on it.

Jack blinks, losing track of all the silvers and golds and glitter, that they aren’t alone in his living room and he can’t sit here and take this torturous teasing any longer. Not like this when there’s things he needs a bed and some other toys for.

“You should shut up or I’ll make you.” His hands find their way to Brock's hips and then slide around to cup his ass, giving that firmness to them a soft squeeze. He guides Brock, easing him down to a sensual roll of his hips so Jack can enjoy the delight that was building in him a little longer. Brock goes with it, leaning back to brace his hands against Jack’s knees until his back is arched in a graceful bow and he looks good enough to devour whole.

“And how ya gonna do that huh?” Brock asks in a husky voice.

“I can think of a few things, making you suck my cock would be a start.” Jack promises. “I’ll have you on your hands and knees, get my mouth all over you just before I fuck into you until you pass out. You know I’d do it, you can feel  _ exactly _ how I would.” He wants to say so much more, but his mind is rapidly devolving to nothing because the increasing friction where Brock rubs the wet fabric of Jack’s pants against his cock is just like a wet fucking dream.

“Yes.” Brock whispers. “I’d let ya too, right ‘ere, on m’ands and knees. Out in the open where everybody can see too.”

Jack cums with a gasp at the mental image, and while he’s always been private about his sexual activities, the turn of events doesn’t much surprise him when it comes to Brock wanting it. This orgasm is different from the one that comes with a good fuck, less delirious, but it still goes on for a long time and he’s left boneless and completely drained.

Brock slides from his lap before Jack is even finished processing everything. He feels slightly clumsy with orgasm, but what he solely zones in on is that Brock is still hard. He raises a brow at him that he hopes indicates an offer of paying it forward.

His only answer is an almost indistinguishable shake of Brock's head and a surprising kiss to his cheek.

“All in a day’s work.” Brock whispers in his ear. He sounds calm, composed even, and unfairly so while the realization causes Jack’s afterglow to fade quickly, replacing it with a flare of anger instead. It goes as quickly as it arrives though when Brock leans in and kisses him on the mouth. It’s a small one, just something friends might do, but the tenderness of it succeeds in distracting Jack again.

“He’s still watchin’.” He’s told and it’s Brock’s cue to walk away, Jack unable to look anywhere else.

It’s hard to remember that this is a mission for Shield, and Koning is still in the same room assessing him. A prostitute, or whatever Brock was playing the role of, cumming in his pants instead of leaving immediately after Jack got off would most certainly raise his suspicions. He almost blew it for him and Brock, his dick almost left to do all the thinking and thankful Brock was there to rein him back in. It’s why he led the way most of the time. 

For now there seems no harm done. Koning comes over and sits down next to Jack, studying him with open interest.

“I see he likes you. He’s never gone as far as that with me.” He openly complains as if Jack’s been a friend for a long while. “You must tell me your secret.”

Jack just smirks at him.

When Koning continues to stare at him expectantly, Jack shrugs. “They're all the same. A few pretty words and they eat right out of your hand. They already know you have money, all of it makes breaking them later all the sweeter.”

Koning grins, all teeth, and Jack needs to make sure they’re not just humoring each other, that he has him. With the long list Shield has on him, he’s an important piece to a larger puzzle, but Jack really dislikes the man. He’s done a lot he doesn’t agree with and his mind briefly wonders how far Brock would take his role if Jack failed to impress tonight.

“Ah, Marcus! You finally arrived.” Koning says with a sweep of his hand gesturing outwards to a man standing close to the door. Jack shakes hands with him when he steps forward and is introduced as Vasily just like he has been, a fake smile across his lips, hoping soon he can exit if only to change. 

“I would love to chat a little longer especially now that you both have met, but I am afraid I have other business to attend to.” Koning suddenly pipes in and excuses himself after pulling himself up to his feet and arranging a dinner meeting for tomorrow night. “I will see you soon, so we can talk more, Mr. Volkov. I feel we have many things to discuss regarding the pleasures in life.”

Jack stands and nods, shaking hands again and completely avoiding the uncomfortable cooling spot in his pants. Instead he watches Koning disappear through a small door in the back and it’s a little bit of a relief. A part of him wants to go see what type of business he has going on in the bowels of the club, but he’s got time to grow roots and allow himself to be invited. He’s done here for tonight, in every which way.

Outside, his phone chimes and it’s a nice simple sound over all the obtrusive music that had been going on once he grew tired of his surroundings. A message from an unknown flashes across his screen, an address of some sort only blocks from here, but Jack isn’t in any mood to play games tonight if Fury’s behind the lead to something. Frankly, he just wants to get back to his hotel room and have a drink or two before bed, allow himself the joys of remembering how Brock felt pressed up against him.

Another message from the same number comes in. This time it’s a photo. Of Brock. He’s nude and tastefully (or teasingly) covered on a bed with just barely any of the champagne silk sheets to hold him still.

It’s enough for Jack to forgo any measure of sleep he had planned and get into his car to head out to that address. 

His phone chimes to another message and he looks at it when he comes to a red light.

_ Hurry your ass up or I’m bolting the door. _

Jack has to smile. Fantasizing about Brock was one thing, but finally being allowed to have the real thing was so much better.


End file.
